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<title>"The Last Thread" &amp; "Warmth" - ficlet &amp; poem, kindly illustrated by TarekGiverOfCookies by GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29697843">"The Last Thread" &amp; "Warmth" - ficlet &amp; poem, kindly illustrated by TarekGiverOfCookies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster'>GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Patient (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comfort, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Crowley, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 03:01:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>803</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29697843</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Armageddon, Crowley and Aziraphale retire to the bookshop, and try to process all of the events which led them up to this point. It all becomes a bit too much for Crowley. But his angel will always be there for him. A very short ficlet, followed by an accompanying poem I wrote to frame the same scene from Crowley's viewpoint.</p><p>There is a LOT of personal hurt which went into this fic, before it was written, and for many months after - I wrote this back in June 2020 at an extremely low point for me personally, but then it's upload was delayed for over 7 months by something else which upset me further. Thankfully there are still lovely sweet people out there who care and want to lift others up instead of knocking them down. I'd like to thank TarekGiverOfCookies for being one of these lovely people.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Last Thread</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Graciously and generously illustrated by Tarek, Giver of Cookies:<br/><a href="https://www.instagram.com/tarekgiverofcookiesart">https://www.instagram.com/tarekgiverofcookiesart</a><br/><a href="https://tarekgiverofcookies.tumblr.com">https://tarekgiverofcookies.tumblr.com</a><br/><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarek_giverofcookies/pseuds/Tarek_giverofcookies">Tarek_giverofcookies on ao3</a> </p><p>Notes at the end you can skip if you like, they detail a bit of why this little ficlet and the poem that goes with it were so special to me. Contains sad details so don't bother with them if you want to leave on a positive note.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“To the world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They chinked glasses, and drank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To the bookshop?” Crowley enquired after a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent plan.” Aziraphale beamed back at him. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>It had been a long week. They hadn’t even been able to relax after the airbase, the unknown fate hanging over their heads had seen to that. But the bodyswap saved their skins. And at last, the Ritz. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Crowley was exhausted. His mind spun out until only one single, fine, frayed thread of thought and energy remained, feeling like he was being held up by that single invisible thread alone, terrified of what would happen when it twanged and snapped. Would he collapse like a dropped marionette? He was running on adrenaline, coffee, and apparently champagne. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He crumpled onto the sofa, staring blankly at nothing. He pulled his shades off and set them aside, rubbing the bridge of his nose, forehead furrowed, struggling to think. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened his eyes and just stared. As if gazing through the shelves, through the wall of the bookshop, down the street to an invisible infinity beyond. His shoulders were slumped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale appeared in his field of vision again bearing two cups of tea, although Crowley was too exhausted even to follow him with his eyes and continued, unblinking, as he was. Aziraphale placed the two cups of tea on the little table, then sat down on the sofa next to the demon, who dimly registered the sagging of the cushions as he did so, and felt vaguely confused, something was different. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The angel never sat on the sofa with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence, save for the ticking of the longcase clock, and the occasional swish of a car sweeping past the windows on the street outside, headlights sending angular moving blocks of light across the walls. Somewhere, a dog barked. A siren wailed in the distance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The demon turned tired eyes to take in the angelic being sitting quietly next to him, an expectant look on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley considered the question carefully. He shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up. Aziraphale’s eyes were sympathetic. He reached out and took Crowley’s hand in his own gently, and squeezed it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will be. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We </span>
  </em>
  <span>will be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thread snapped. Crowley collapsed forward into Aziraphale’s arms. The angel cradled him gently, one hand stroking his hair soothingly, the other on his back, just holding him, giving him at long last, the first caring embrace that the demon had never been able to experience in his entire existence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one hugged in heaven. They certainly didn’t in hell. Humans had never wanted to hug a demon. He’d never wanted them to either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he wanted this. Just to be held by his angel. To feel cared for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale had never been hugged in heaven either. He’d held humans before to comfort them, cradled the sick and dying. But they hadn’t held him back. Not like this. Crowley’s arms wrapped around him and held him fiercely tight. He could feel the demon shaking in his arms, and quiet sobs, as tears soaked into his shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Crowley was hugging him back. And Aziraphale felt his own tears start to fall. He laid his head on Crowley’s shoulder and closed his eyes. They wept away the stresses of the past six thousand years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d be alright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On their own side.</span>
</p><p>
  <a href="http://ukshires.net/AO3/tarekgiverofcookies-last-thread.jpg">
    <span>
      
    </span>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <a href="http://ukshires.net/AO3/tarekgiverofcookies-last-thread.jpg">
    <span>(Can't see the image? Click here)</span>
  </a>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CW for real world angst below, so skip these end notes if you'd rather not read that. It was important to me, however to talk about the place of personal pain this fic and poem stemmed from, and why it's put me through over half a year of hell.</p><p>When I wrote this, I was in a very personally dark place, it was June 2020 and on top of the entire plague issue, my own mental and physical health was at the lowest ebb. Someone extremely close to me had just had his third major cancer operation, each of them had been extremely high risk, and he was lucky to make it through all of them, and the ongoing gruelling treatments. During all of this I was helpless to do anything - I couldn't visit, I couldn't support someone else in my life who was struggling so much to support him, there was nothing I could do but be thousands of miles away, not knowing if I'd ever see him again.</p><p>Add to that, my good friend and neighbour passed away, after going through almost identical medical issues the whole way along. He passed away so suddenly, leaving his wife bereft, after they'd been through hell for years in so many ways. </p><p>My own personal health took a hit with my disability and chronic health issues having a huge setback, resulting in torn muscles in my spine, and extreme pain, taking months to recover from. A lot of things piled up on me and mentally I just broke, and went into the darkest of dark places. The kind of dark place where stupid thoughts go through your head. </p><p>This fic was something positive that came out of that dark place. Then an artist I followed and supported for some time opened up commisisons needing money, so I thought why not commisison them to draw a simple soft scene from this? I paid them, and then waited. And waited. And waited. A total of only three times in the next 7 months I politely enquired as to when the simple commission might be ready, and was fobbed off every time.  In the meantime they carried on posting other art on more recent topics, while I continued to support them on patreon and ko-fi, while ignoring paid commissions, making me feel worse and worse when it became clear that they never had any intention of actually drawing it, and I'd just thrown my money away. </p><p>It meant that this fic sat unpublished, and whenever I thought of it, it just reminded me of how I'd been scammed, and it made the hurt even worse. It poisoned it for me. Then to add insult to injury, to really rub salt in the wound, after the artist claimed that they were finding it difficult to draw Aziraphale comforting Crowley on the sofa (understandable, that's fine), they went and took my concept to draw something for *themselves* on the same theme and started selling it, while still fobbing me off. Clearly at this point just enjoying rubbing my face in it, in what felt like a deliberate act of cruelty.</p><p>I had something so intensely personal and special to me, and someone just had to take it and stomp all over it to kick me when I was down. </p><p>Well Tarek found out about this, and very kindly drew me the sweet little illustration to cheer me up, and I can't thank them enough for being so lovely and supportive, in this and many other things. &lt;3 </p><p>It's good to know that a few bad apples in the fandom are the exception to the rule, and there are still nice supportive people out there.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Warmth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Graciously and generously illustrated by Tarek, Giver of Cookies:<br/><a href="https://www.instagram.com/tarekgiverofcookiesart">https://www.instagram.com/tarekgiverofcookiesart</a></p><p>
  <a href="https://tarekgiverofcookies.tumblr.com">https://tarekgiverofcookies.tumblr.com</a>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When you’re a reptile you seek warmth.<br/>You’d think I’d be hot, hellishly hot, but no. <br/>No warm touch for the damned. <br/>Ice inside, destined never to melt.</p><p>I can see your warmth. <br/>Some snakes can, y’know, <br/>See heat, I mean. <br/>I can see yours. Warm and good, like your love.</p><p>But it’s not for me, <br/>Never could be. <br/>Not worthy of such love, <br/>Never have been, never will be.</p><p>But I’ll bask in your warmth as I can,<br/>From a small distance, <br/>Just look upon your radiance, <br/>And smile. And hope.</p><p>I walked into a burning bookshop,<br/>You’d think that’d warm me up. <br/>Didn’t melt. <br/>Just cried.</p><p>I drove through flames,<br/>Never thought I’d make it. <br/>But I did, <br/>For you.</p><p>Then stepped into hellfire.<br/>Only that was warm. <br/>Nice, weirdly. <br/>Made for such as me.</p><p>Only fire I can actually still feel,<br/>But the warmth isn’t love. <br/>I’m still frozen inside. <br/>I can still see your warmth.</p><p>But now your arms…<br/>They’re around me. <br/>You’re warm… warming… <br/>Me. </p><p>Warming me up,<br/>With your love. <br/>Flowing into me, <br/>And I’m melting.</p><p>Icy trickles of fear escape,<br/>Through my eyes, <br/>On your shirt, <br/>Melting in your love.</p><p>I’m warm now,<br/>And safe. <br/>Always will be, <br/>In your arms.</p><p>I’m going to wrap around your love,<br/>Bind my coils around it, <br/>Keep it safe forever. <br/>On our own side.</p><p>
  <a href="http://ukshires.net/AO3/tarekgiverofcookies-last-thread.jpg"> <em>  </em> </a>
</p><p>
  <a href="http://ukshires.net/AO3/tarekgiverofcookies-last-thread.jpg"> <em>(Can't see the image? Click here)</em> </a>
</p>
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